


Wrapped Around Me

by kyjr



Category: Johnny's Entertainment, KAT-TUN (Band), Kanjani8 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-16
Updated: 2013-10-16
Packaged: 2017-12-29 14:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1006346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyjr/pseuds/kyjr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries to play other songs but somehow they warp and change back into Nishikido's song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrapped Around Me

**Author's Note:**

> to [](http://nisanoaozora.livejournal.com/profile)  
> [**nisanoaozora**](http://nisanoaozora.livejournal.com/), I hope you enjoy this, and have a happy Valentines day. Written for ryodalove's ficolate exchange.

  
It doesn't take much. He steps out wrong, his foot gives and he's tripping and catching himself but it's not enough and the punch knocks him breathless; he feels something yield in his ribs and then he's falling, collapsing to the floor of the ring with a clatter of limbs.

Ueda lies there, panting as he clumsily clutches his side. "Shit," he mumbles around his mouth guard, the pain from the blow coursing through his ribs. It hurts like a bitch, and he knows he's out; knows the match is over when the bell rings and he's being hauled up. Someone barks at him to spit his mouth guard out and he does, grimacing as they yank him about to check the damage done. He thinks he may have hit his head a little because everything is a blur, a mix of white and brown and black as they force him to lie down.

It's a concussion, they say later, and Ueda can only shrug in response. Okay. He's bruised his ribs but they're not broken - this time.

"They'll take about three to four weeks to heal," the doctor says, and Ueda sighs. He stops quickly because it fucking hurts and he bites his lip hard enough to draw blood, staring ahead at the posters behind the doctor. His manager is in the room with him, and she sighs _for_ him, shifting a little closer. He leans away.

"So that means--"

"It means," the doctor interrupts, typing something on his computer before turning back to them. "It means that Ueda-san needs complete rest. No work, no boxing, no physical activity whatsoever." He peers at Ueda over his glasses. "Nothing at all."

"What am I meant to _do_?" Ueda asks, and his doctor narrows his eyes.

"Read a book."

He hates his doctor.

He hates his manager, too, because she just agrees and piles him back into the car. He winces at every single bump in the road - he's sure she's doing this on purpose. She's not a nice manager.

"You're an idiot," is all she says, dragging her hand through her auburn hair and sighing again. "This means KAT-TUN will have to be put on hold, do you understand?" she snaps when they're at Ueda's apartment building, turning to him in her seat. She's pretty, he thinks, but quickly pushes that aside because _that's_ never going to happen. The ring on her finger says she's married anyway, and-- And Ueda must have really hit his head hard to be actually considering this.

He should probably pay attention to what she's saying.

She's gesturing wildly, the bracelets on her wrist clanking together with a tinny sound and he smirks because they're cheap. She can bitch all she wants about him and his work but they're still the ones paying her; she gets to tell them where to go at what time, but she doesn't really give a shit about them. About their health, about their lives. Ueda's a bastard when he's in pain.

So he just nods until she stops waving her arms and climbs out of the car, hissing when his ribs protest sharply. He hides the pain though because he's a big boy, and maybe because he doesn't want her to see him weak like this.

"I'll call you later," she yells out of the window of the car. "I'll send someone around to check on you."

"Aww, you don't have to," he all but sneers, and she gives him a look. "Thanks," he mumbles, and she raises her eyebrows.

"Don't go all polite on me now, Tatsuya," she says, with a tiny smile on her face. "I'll whisk you back to that hospital if you continue."

He has to laugh at that. She can be funny sometimes. She drives away and he's left standing there in the underground parking lot, duffel bag in-hand, his boxing gloves just visible from where Ueda hadn't zipped the bag up properly. It's like they're mocking him. He has papers from the doctor inside too, little instructions on how to take care of his head and his ribs, and he bites his lip as his side begins to hurt again.

It's just a month, Ueda thinks to himself as he enters his apartment. Just a month. A few weeks. He could catch up on all those things he wanted to do but never had the time. Like... Like... Like watch those movies that Maruyama had recommended. Write a new song, or five. Watch back those dance videos Junno had made for him and actually try to take it in instead of getting bored and wandering away like usual.

He'd read Shige's book another time, just to spite the doctor. And maybe Shige.

His dogs leap at him when he walks through the door, as eager as always to greet their master. Ueda loves them terribly but has to push them away when they paw at him, his ribs aching. "Down, girls," he murmurs but they pay him no heed, their tongues lolling out of their mouths in glee just because he's home. Patto-chan has always been quieter and she waits back, her stuffed toy in her mouth as she watches the bigger dogs. He never forgets her though, and strokes under her chin when he stumbles past, the other dogs bashing at his legs when they try to walk as close to him as possible. "Why I'm allowed to keep all of you in this apartment is beyond me," he mutters, but smiles and throws his bag down before heading into the kitchen.

His dogs always make him feel better. He doesn't know why, or how, just that they do. Eri noses at his thigh and he scratches her ears; she shakes her head and wanders away, probably in the search of food. He chuckles.

There's a headache that threatens to bloom into a full-on migraine pressing just behind his eyes. Ueda presses a hand to his head and leans against the kitchen counter, closing his eyes tightly as if that alone could push the headache away. He’s considering going to bed to sleep it all off, in the hopes that it’s been a bad dream, but that’s when his doorbell rings.

His dogs bark all at once and rush to it, scratching at the doorknob in their attempt to turn it. This time, it's Kamenashi who is met by the golden retrievers - they _love_ Kame, because he smells like Ran-chan, and Ran-chan is a dog, and they like the smell of dog. Dog is good.

Ueda chuckles at Kame's happy face. Kame's kind of like the dogs; he feels better just having him around. "You heard?" he asks, not even greeting the other. Kame shrugs and walks inside, closing the door behind him.

"Everyone heard," is his answer, and Ueda nods before gingerly sitting onto the couch. Kame winces for him. "Is it bad?"

Ueda kind of wants to punch him in the face for that comment. "Yes."

"Ah."

"Yep."

Kame claps his hands together, and it jarrs his head. "I didn't think you should be alone," Kame says, and Ueda remembers the doctor saying something about that too.

"So you're staying over?" Ueda asks, looking up at him. Kame looks tired, he thinks.

Kame shakes his head. "No, you're coming with me."

"I'm going to your place?" Ueda briefly thinks of Kame's tiny apartment and his tiny dogs and his tiny little balcony and pauses. "Really?"

Kame gives him a look. "No," he deadpans. Ueda sighs in relief. Kame's apartment is all flashy and stylish and nothing like his own; there are sharp edges and glossy furniture pieces and artwork that make no sense, and Ueda never feels comfortable in it. It's like a page from a magazine.

But Ueda's relief is short-lived when he tunes back in to what Kame is saying. "I'm-- I'm sorry, _what_ did you just say?"

Kame stares. "I said I'm taking you to Nishikido's," he answers simply, straightening out his shirt where the dogs had creased it.

" _Why_?"

Kame rolls his eyes. "Oh please, that fight happened years ago."

"I don't give a crap about the fight," Ueda says in exasperation.

"None of us have the time to look after you," Kame answers, running a hand through his always-impeccable hair. "We've all got drama roles and other stuff to do - I'm still promoting Bem left right and centre - and we don't want to leave you alone," Kame finishes, looking regretful. "I'm really sorry, but he's the only one left."

"Only one left?" Ueda hisses.

"Yes." Kame picks an imaginary speck of dust off his shoulder. "Only one left. Ring the others, if you don't believe me." He gives Ueda that sharp look he gets when Nakamaru is late to rehearsal or Ueda messes up a dance move onstage. Ueda shrinks from it. "I'm sorry, but--"

"Then leave me alone," Ueda says. It's not like he hates Nishikido or anything. They've just never really... spoken all that much. He's a member of a band and so is Nishikido; they've exchanged words - some unpleasant - in the past but that's about it.

Kame crosses his arms and Ueda knows he's in trouble. "Don't you get all self-pitying on me," Kame says, raising an eyebrow. "You need someone to take care of you. You're injured, and concussed, and someone needs to keep an eye on you."

Ueda can't think of anything to retort with so he just stares up at him. "I don't want to go," he ends up saying but that's the wrong thing to do because then Kame's laughing and tugging on his arm, and a few hours later he's at Nishikido's doorstep with two bags of luggage and a complete migraine.

Ueda hates his life.

Kame leaves him standing on the doorstep to Nishikido's apartment; he's already buzzed them up from the ground floor. Ueda wants to run back but he knows deep down that he needs someone with him - his vision is a little blurry and his mind feels fuzzy, and he's scared of hitting his head and lying unconscious where no-one can find him and--

His thoughts are cut short when Nishikido opens the door. He's only half-dressed, a pair of thin grey trackpants hanging low on his hips; his hair is damp and flops over his eyes and it's obvious that he's come out of the shower, but Ueda doesn't want that image in his head.

"Hey," Nishikido says, after they've stood there in silence for a few minutes. "You coming in?"

"If I have to."

Nishikido laughs at that, his whole face crinkling up into a huge smile that makes him look ten again and Ueda relaxes without even realising he was tense to begin with. "Come on."

It appears that Nishikido has known for a while that Ueda would be coming over, because he's pulled out an old futon and has dinner lying there still steaming - chicken and rice and beans, Ueda thinks - on the coffee table waiting for him. Nishikido pads over to the table and sits cross-legged in front of it, looking up at Ueda with a confused expression on his face.

"Well?"

They eat dinner like that. Nishikido's arm presses against his own, his knee just touching Ueda's and it should feel weird and uncomfortable but it doesn't. Nishikido doesn't say a word and neither does Ueda, content to focus on the food in front of him - it's delicious and Ueda kind of hates him for it because it's better than anything he could ever make. Nishikido makes annoying noises when he eats his rice; Ueda elbows him and he stops. Nishikido finishes first and stands up with a grunt, taking his plate to the kitchen before coming back for Ueda's.

Ueda doesn't really know quite what to do with himself. He moves to stand but suddenly there's pain _everywhere_ and his head is spinning and he's falling.

"Woah--!"

But then Nishikido is there.

He catches him but barely, and they tumble to the ground together because Nishikido's arms don't wrap around his waist in time. They land on Nishikido's old rug but it's not much of a cushion for the fall; Nishikido just manages to wind an arm behind Ueda's head before it hits the ground. It's like he's been punched all over again when he lands, the breath knocked out of him as he lies there, half of his body sprawled over Nishikido. "Shit," he gasps, but Nishikido says nothing. His hand comes up to run fingers through Ueda's hair and it should feel strange but it feels _nice_ , and comforting, and that's just what he needs.

It takes a while for them to untangle themselves, once Ueda has caught his breath. There's an icepack lying halfway across the room; Nishikido must have dropped it once he saw Ueda falling.

"That's for you," Nishikido says, picking it up and handing it to Ueda. "I read that you need to keep ice on it." He gestures to Ueda's side and averts his gaze. "You okay?" His tone is so soft that Ueda almost misses it.

"I'm concussed and my ribs are bruised; I'm not allowed to box or dance or even _sing_ because it'll hurt like fuck," Ueda snaps, his eyes blazing, and Nishikido looks confused. "And-- What?"

"I meant from the fall just now," Nishikido murmurs, and Ueda feels like a bastard. "I think my elbow dug into your side." Ueda isn't used to seeing Nishikido like this; he's used to him talking big and smirking in the wake of his words. He's used to Nishikido snapping and being a general dick, but right now Nishikido's eyes are as soft as his tone.

"Uuh."

"Whatever," Nishikido says. "Put that on your ribs for about fifteen minutes," he instructs, pointing to the icepack that is slowly numbing Ueda's hand. "There's an aspirin in the kitchen for you, too."

That's the end of the conversation, because Nishikido is turning away and throwing himself onto the couch, quickly turning the television on. He flicks it to a certain channel and Ueda realises that it's time for Masuda's new drama - he only knows this because Nakamaru won't shut up about it.

"Don't just stand there," Nishikido snaps suddenly, and Ueda smiles as he makes his way to the kitchen, Masuda's distinctive voice filling the lounge room. _That_ is the Nishikido he knows.

There's a small pill on the kitchen counter next to a glass of water and he quickly takes it, grimacing at the taste. He pads back into the lounge room, bringing the water with him, and perches down on the couch next to Nishikido. "Resident?" he asks, nodding towards the television, where Masuda is running about in hospital scrubs, a face mask pulled over his ever-present smile. Nishikido nods.

"It's surprisingly good," he says, leaning forward and snatching the icepack from Ueda. "Put this on," he demands, his voice firm, and his fingers skate over the hem of Ueda's shirt. Ueda shifts and grabs the pack from Nishikido, shifting in his seat so he's against the back of the couch. The ice is cold and it _hurts_ against his bruised skin, so much so that it's hard to breathe. "Breathe normally," Nishikido says, not even watching him. "You're breathing weird. You've gotta breathe normally, or else you'll die."

"I won't-- I won't die," Ueda retorts, but right now it feels like he should.

"You're right," Nishikido says, turning to face him. "You'll catch pneumonia."

"Huh?" Ueda asks.

"Did you not hear me?" is all Nishikido says, and goes back to his drama. "Oh, it's Kame."

Ueda turns his attention to the television, to a fresh-faced Kame promoting his new film. The clip lasts about thirty seconds but Ueda isn't really focusing, instead paying attention to the way he breathes. He kind of doesn't want pneumonia, even if Nishikido is just pulling his leg.

"Good puppy," Nishikido says, ruffling Ueda's hair when he gets up. Ueda splutters, and Nishikido laughs before disappearing back into the kitchen. He comes back with a glass of water for himself. Ueda stares at the television, trying to ignore Nishikido. Masuda looks weird in hospital scrubs, he thinks. It's good he's not actually a doctor. "Does it still hurt?" Nishikido asks, and Ueda grunts.

Nishikido says nothing more, settling back on the couch and lifting his feet up onto the coffee table. Masuda's drama finishes and then there's some game show, and Nishikido is muttering the answers to the questions under his breath and clicking his tongue when the contestants get the answer wrong. "You know they can't hear you, right?" Ueda says, chuckling, and Nishikido just wrenches the icepack from him.

"You don't need this anymore," he says, and throws it onto the coffee table. "Shut up." His face is grumpy but his ears are red, and Ueda holds back a laugh.

"Okay."

Nishikido doesn't stop answering the questions. Half an hour later, Ueda finds himself answering them, too.

After the game show there's a movie, and Nishikido pulls another icepack from the fridge and throws it at Ueda. The movie is a comedy, and every laugh hurts but Ueda can't stop, because Nishikido is laughing too and he has one of those infectious laughs that shake the whole couch, and in the end he's laughing at Nishikido more than the movie.

Halfway through the movie he can feel his eyelids getting heavier, and he shifts on the couch to get more comfortable. "Hey," Nishikido says, slapping his leg. Ueda sits up sleepily. "The movie isn't done yet," he says a little blankly when Ueda turns his eyes to him.

"Yeah?"

"It's rude to fall asleep before your host," Nishikido says. It's too tiring to argue so Ueda rights himself and stares at the television screen with determination. He doesn't know why Nishikido wants him to stay awake but he doesn't want to lose this game. Whatever this game might be.

Ueda's phone rings, then, and he rushes to answer it but Nishikido is faster - Ueda's bag is closer to him. "Nishikido," he says, low and deep. Ueda glares at him, trying to knock the phone out from his hands but Nishikido just leans away, knowing Ueda can't follow him. "Oh yeah, he's here." He hands the phone over with a smirk. "It's Kame."

"--Been trying to ring for _hours_ ; I had no idea if you were lying dead somewhere," Kame mutters when Ueda presses the phone to his ear. "I was worried--"

"Kame, I'm fine," Ueda laughs. "I'm not dead."

"Oh. Oh, good."

"Yep, pretty good."

"So... How is Ryo?" Kame asks, and suddenly Nishikido is standing and heading into the kitchen, looking at everything but Ueda as he passes.

"He's okay," Ueda murmurs. "It's not as bad as I'd thought here." Kame laughs.

"He's been looking after you properly, then?" he asks, and there's a muffled sound on the other side of the phone. "No, Ran-chan, _down_."

Ueda chuckles. "I suppose--"

"He's been giving you icepacks every few hours?" Kame interrupts, his voice worried. Nishikido comes back with two cups of coffee in his hands, gently placing them down on the table and sitting back down, focusing on the movie. "Has he fed you?"

"Yes, and yes," Ueda answers, rolling his eyes. "We've both been good."

"Give me back to Nishikido."

Ueda sighs and hands the phone to Nishikido, who blinks at it. "Kame wants to talk to you," Ueda explains, and Nishikido scrunches his nose up.

"Ew, why?"

Ueda chuckles. "I don't know, just take it."

"What do you want?" Ryo sighs, pressing the phone to his ear. "Wh-- Of course! I'm-- Kame-- Well why else do you think I'm up at two in the morning?" he snaps, and suddenly Ueda wonders - why _is_ Nishikido staying up until two in the morning? "Yeah, yeah. I will! Stop worrying, you'll get wrinkles." With that, Nishikido hangs up on Kame - who is still talking - and gives the phone to Ueda. "Here."

"Don't you have work tomorrow?" Ueda asks suddenly, and Nishikido shrugs.

"Not really."

"That's not an answer."

"It kind of is."

Ueda sighs in frustration because Nishikido is a jerk, and goes back to the movie. Nishikido pokes at his arm and hands him his coffee, and he watches the steam rise off it in silver tendrils, winding up and around till it dissipates into nothing. The coffee is hot and burns his tongue but it's good, really good, and Ueda finds himself sighing. "This is nice."

He gets a grunt in response. The movie finishes and then there are boring infomercials all piled up one after the other, and they sit through one about scrapbooking until Ryo makes a sound like a frustrated velociraptor and stands, switching the television off. "Sun's rising," he says, as way of an explanation. "Gonna make breakfast."

Nishikido is a man of many words.

He makes eggs and toast, and they sit on his rug-covered floor as they watch early-morning cartoons from their childhood. Ueda's eyes are itching to be rested but he just shakes his head and shovels more eggs into his mouth; they're good, so much better than he makes. "These are really nice," he says, and Nishikido pauses.

"Really?" Ueda nods. "Thanks."

\---

Nakamaru comes over at eight. Ueda's sitting there on Nishikido's couch, icepack held to his side as he watches the morning news and feels old because he actually _cares_ about what temperature it's going to be in Hokkaido today.

"What's the temperature in Osaka?" Nishikido asks from his bedroom.

"I don't know," Ueda answers, shifting in his seat. "But Hokkaido is going to be cold."

"It's always cold in Hokkaido."

There's a knock on the door and Ueda stills. "Someone's at your door."

"I don't have pants on!"

Ueda sighs. He's not getting up. "Come in!" he yells, and there's a thump from Nishikido's room.

"I could've done that!"

"But you didn't!" Ueda laughs. "Ouch."

Nakamaru looks like a deer in headlights when he walks in. "Hello?" he asks cautiously.

"Right here on the couch," Ueda says, and Nakamaru relaxes. "Yo."

"Hey, how're you feeling?" he asks, perching down on the couch carefully. He takes in the icepack pressed to Ueda's side and the bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. "Do you feel as wonderful as you look?"

"It's not so bad anymore," Ueda says. It's true; his ribs are still bruised, and his head feels a little fuzzy, but it's not unbearable.

"He's been taking care of you?" Nakamaru asks, suddenly realising where they are and begins looking around for Nishikido.

"Yeah," Ueda answers. "Kame asked me all this last ni-- this morning." Nakamaru nods.

"So you didn't sleep at all?" Ueda frowns, staring at him. Nakamaru looks uncomfortable.

"No, he didn't," Nishikido says, buckling his belt as he walks out of his bedroom. "I kept him awake all night, like the doctor told me to."

"Wait, what--"

"I've been giving him ice packs and aspirin," Nishikido says, looking straight at Nakamaru. Nakamaru stands and looks down at Nishikido; Ueda wonders if Nakamaru is using his height against Nishikido on purpose. "I've been doing everything right, Nakamaru."

"Could someone - possibly - please tell me what's going on?" Ueda asks, peering up at the two.

"No," Nishikido says, and shuffles off into the kitchen. Ueda blinks. "If you say anything, Nakamaru, I'll shred all your sweater-vests."

Nakamaru looks torn for a second, and Ueda stares. "I'm more important than your clothes!"

"Right, right."

"So?" Ueda prompts.

"Nakamaru, out!" Nishikido yells, barrelling into him and pushing Nakamaru until he starts walking backwards by himself. Nakamaru tries to speak but Nishikido cuts him off again. "Shut up," he hisses, before shutting the door in Nakamaru's stunned face.

"What the fuck, Nishikido?" Ueda yells, but Nishikido says nothing. Nishikido's ears are red as he mumbles something under his breath and goes back into the kitchen, swiping the icepack from Ueda once more.

"Mind your own business."

Ueda rolls his eyes, and even though he's dying to know what the heck everyone is talking about, he quietens. Nishikido is a stubborn bastard and refuses to tell him anything no matter how much Ueda prods at him later.

So when Nishikido goes out to grab some food for dinner, Ueda calls Nakamaru.

"Hel--"

"Tell me everything," Ueda demands, ignoring Nakamaru's quiet whine.

"But my sweater vests--"

"Nakamaru!"

Nakamaru is quiet for a while. "He asked the doctor himself. He spent about an hour asking all these questions, getting all this help for you."

Ueda pauses. "What? Why?"

"He wanted to look after you," Nakamaru explains, and Ueda stills. "He was the one to tell Kame to take you there. I don't know why - and I don't want to know - but... yeah. That's what happened."

Ueda is as confused as ever. "But--But why did he need to keep me up last night? He said the doctor told him to keep me up - why?"

"He needed to keep you awake - the doctor said that the first twenty four hours or something is dangerous for someone with a concussion," he answers, sounding strained. Nakamaru doesn't want to talk about this. Ueda doesn't care. Nakamaru _will_ talk about this. "And then Nishikido was asking all these questions - what medication to give you, how many times a day to give you an ice pack. I know, I was there. We all were. Well, you weren't." Nakamaru shuffles a little and then he's talking again. "He was all red and snapped at everyone when we asked him why he was doing all of this, so I really--"

"I'm home," Nishikido calls from the genkan, and Ueda whips around to stare at him, wide-eyed. He quickly hangs up and pockets his phone. "...What?" Nishikido mutters, pulling a face as he steps out of his shoes. Ueda feels caught, and just watches as Nishikido holds a plastic bag up. "I bought chicken for dinner."

"Oh," Ueda answers. "That's great." He'll apologise for hanging up on Nakamaru later, if he remembers.

"I like chicken," Nishikido says, as way of explanation. Ueda nods. Nishikido pulls another face. "Okay then..." Ueda watches as he walks away into the kitchen. "I hope you like curry!"

Ueda is left with all this information running around in his mind. He perches down on the back of the couch, staring ahead and trying to figure Nakamaru's words out.

Nishikido _wanted_ to take care of him. Nishikido, who had grumbled for ten minutes about Ueda eating him out of house and home before actually leaving for the store; the same person who kept throwing ice packs at Ueda's head because he said they made a funny noise when they hit him.

But _why_? It would be understandable if they were friends. But they were just... Ueda furrows his eyebrows. What were they? They weren't enemies, that was sure. But they aren't close enough to be friends, Ueda thinks. Then again...

Ueda follows Nishikido into the kitchen and leans against the counter, watching as Nishikido unpacks the bags. There aren't many and Nishikido doesn't bark for help so Ueda sits back, his arms crossed as Nishikido pulls packets of food from the bags and loads them into his arms to transfer to the cupboard later. "Crackers?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at Nishikido's choice.

To his utter delight, Nishikido turns bright red. "I heard you like them," is all he says, and Ueda suddenly feels all warm inside.

"Oh." Nishikido gives him a look; it's sort of a mix between unsure and some diluted kind of anger. "Thank you," he quickly adds, and Nishikido nods. "Did Kame tell you?"

"About what?"

"...About the crackers."

"No."

Ueda doesn't prod further; Nishikido's voice has a sharp edge to it and Ueda doesn't want to push the topic. He fiddles with the plastic bags as Nishikido bustles around the kitchen, about to get dinner ready. He sets a cutting board down near Ueda; he briefly wonders if Nishikido wants him to help but Nishikido just throws down a bunch of vegetables onto the board and starts chopping at them.

"Nishikido, I--" Ueda starts, and Nishikido looks at him for a long while before muttering a soft "Ah!" and heading to the fridge.

"I almost forgot," he says, and hands Ueda an icepack. "Go lie down."

"Why did you keep me up last night?" Ueda asks instead, and Nishikido stills, takes a deep breath.

"Because the doctor told me to," he answers, and resumes chopping. Ueda watches the way his muscles tense in his arm as he moves the knife almost expertly, cutting the onion into even pieces. It's a little hypnotic, watching him cook. He knows exactly where everything is and moves with this strange kind of grace, reaching for peelers and knives and pots and pans without so much as a noise. "Go lie down," he repeats, barely looking up as he starts scooping out rice.

Ueda gives in and moves away into the other room; he lowers himself down onto the couch carefully and places the ice pack against his side with a hiss. The television is on again - Ueda is quickly becoming good friends with it - and it's some variety show. He recognises Murakami and makes a note to tell Nishikido about it later, when he's done with dinner.

Nishikido's phone rings as Murakami is introducing a short, pink-haired idol, and he rushes out of the kitchen to grab it. It's Yamashita, apparently, and Nishikido shoots Ueda a strange look before covering the mouthpiece and walking quickly back into the kitchen. Ueda stares at Nishikido's back when he moves past him but doesn't think much of it and goes back to watching his show.

Murakami has funny teeth.

Dinner is soon ready and Nishikido comes out of the kitchen with steaming bowls of curry, the delicious scent of the meal wafting before him and teasing Ueda. "Smells nice," Ueda practically moans, and Ryo grunts.

They eat in front of the television again, Ueda's dinner supported on a pillow that Nishikido had helpfully thrown in his face. Nishikido is on the floor cross-legged, practically slurping up his dinner as he attempts to watch Murakami MC this show and message someone on his phone at the same time.

"Hina has weird teeth," Nishikido grumbles at one point, and Ueda snorts into his dinner. He barely sees the little grin that Nishikido tries so valiantly to hide.

"I wonder how he kisses," Ueda muses, and Nishikido ever so slowly turns around to pin him with a curious stare. Ueda quickly backtracks. "Like-- How would-- Not that I've thought about kissing him, it's just-- Would they get in the way?" he stutters, and Nishikido chuckles before actually thinking about it.

"I...don't know," he answers, and goes back to his dinner. "I'll ask him next time."

"No, don't ask him!" Ueda says, horrified.

"Why not?"

"What'll you do-- Just waltz up to him and ask him how he kisses people?" Ueda asks, staring at the back of Nishikido's head. The other just shrugs.

"He asks me weird stuff all the time," Nishikido says with his mouth full. Ueda doesn't want to ask what sort of weird stuff they talk about. Nishikido sighs and shakes his head. "See, now I can't watch this without thinking about Hina kissing you. It's weird; can we change it?"

It's unexpectedly funny and Ueda laughs so hard that his ribs ache. Nishikido is looking at him with this strange half-smile, like he doesn't know why he's laughing so much, and quietly takes the remote control from the couch.

"You're a strange one," Nishikido says, and changes the channel.

For the first time, Ueda doesn't take it personally.

\---

Some time later, Ueda is falling asleep.

"Oi," Nishikido says, and whacks Ueda's feet. "No sleeping here. Get up."

"Why are you so demanding?" Ueda whines, but stands and follows Nishikido, who leads them into a dark room. It holds a bed and a chest of drawers with a large television on it; there's a crude drawing tacked onto the wall beside the curtained window. "What's that?"

"It's me," Nishikido says simply, and pushes Ueda gently into the room. Ueda's too tired to argue with the hand at his back, and just goes with it. There isn't much in here, Ueda thinks.

"That's an ugly picture," he comments, and Ryo pinches him. "Ouch!"

"My niece drew that," he explains, as he pulls the covers over. "She gave it to me for Christmas." It's still an ugly drawing, Ueda thinks. It looks like Kame drew it. It's all in yellow and brown and black crayon, and there are smudges from her tiny little fingers at the corners of the page. Nishikido's niece has even signed it: there's a scrawl down the bottom in red crayon that reads _for unkl ryo, luv ayaka_. Someone should teach that child how to spell. "She's only three," Nishikido adds, and Ueda suddenly feels bad.

And then he realises that Kame draws worse than a three year old girl, and chuckles to himself.

"Get in the bed," Nishikido orders.

"Is that how you get girls into bed?" Ueda asks, and Nishikido sighs.

"Just--"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm going." Ueda slips under the covers, wriggling around until he's comfortable. "All cozy," he says, and Nishikido gives him a look. "What?"

"I forgot that Nakamaru told me that you act like a five year old when you're drowsy," Nishikido says, and for the briefest of seconds, there's a tiny soft glance in those eyes of his. Maybe Ueda's imagining it. "Anyway. Good night."

Nishikido is almost out the door when Ueda realises that he's in Nishikido's bed. "Where will you sleep?" he asks. Nishikido yawns.

"Futon in the lounge room," he answers simply. Ueda kind of feels like he's drowning under all these covers.

"Okay," Ueda says, the covers hugging his body just so and making him even sleepier. "Good night."

"H-Hey, Ueda?" Nishikido asks tentatively, about to close the door.

"Yeah?"

"I love you," he says, in the softest tone Ueda has ever heard him speak.

"...Oh."

"...Yeah. Y-Yamapi told me to tell you."

"Yamapi loves me?"

"No, I do."

"Oh. Okay then."

"...Yeah."

"Good night."

"Good night to you."

And then Nishikido is gone, leaving Ueda lying there in his bed with Ayaka's horrid drawing on the wall next to him and the moonlight seeping in through the thick red curtains, feeling really quite odd. That soft voice wraps around him and lulls him to sleep, and the last thought he has that night is that he might not mind that Nishikido loves him.

It kind of makes him feel a little warm inside.

 

\---

 

He awakes with a start. The front door slams and Ueda's leaping out of the bed, stumbling as the sheets wrap around his ankles. He falls with a bang onto the floorboards, hissing as his ribs start their usual dull ache again.

"Ueda?" Nishikido calls, and then he's rushing into the room, his hands fluttering about Ueda's shoulders as he tries to help him up. "Are you alright?"

"Why the fuck-- Ouch--" Ueda slips but Nishikido is there, his hands strong on Ueda's waist as he pulls him up. "Why the fuck are you slamming doors at five in the morn-- Why is there dog food on the floor?"

"Which one of those questions do you want me to answer first?" Nishikido says instead, but Ueda glares. "Okay, okay. I went to feed your dogs," he answers, averting his eyes and picking the sheets up off the floor. Ueda stares.

"Seriously?"

"Well someone has to feed them!" Nishikido spits. "I'll sweep all this up later," he mumbles, gesturing to the dog biscuits scattered on the floor of his bedroom. "Get back to sleep, for now."

Ueda watches him leave before gingerly sitting back down on the bed. Once awake, he won't be able to get back to sleep, so instead he manoeuvres himself around the bed carefully and makes sure the sheets are all tucked in nice and snug, all neat for Nishikido. It's when he's tiptoeing around donut-shaped dog treats that he remembers.

"You love me?" Ueda practically screeches, rushing into the lounge room and skidding a little around the corners. Nishikido is in the middle of rolling his futon back up but pauses, staring at Ueda like he's grown another head.

"Huh?"

"You love me!" Ueda repeats, eyes wide.

"I thought we went through this last ni--"

"I was half asleep! I was lucky to remember my own name!" Ueda yelps, but Nishikido's face doesn't change.

"What do you want me to say?" Nishikido asks, straightening up and stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Do you want me to tell you that it was a joke? That it was all a--"

"No!" Ueda interrupts, his head suddenly feeling fuzzy again. "No, I just-- What?" he ends up saying, and Nishikido's lips quirk up in a half-smile. "Stop that."

"I'll tell you another time," is all Nishikido says, and Ueda wants to punch him. He would have, too, were it not for the searing pain in his ribs.

"Damn," Ueda hisses, and Nishikido is by his side in a second.

"Sit down. I'll get you something."

"I can sit down by myse-- No, I need help." Ueda hates the way he leans against Nishikido as he helps lower him down, hates that he's become so dependant on him.

Hates that he can still feel Nishikido's fingers long after he's moved away.

"Seriously, if you need help just ask," Nishikido says as he walks to the kitchen. "Don't be stupid."

"I won't be," Ueda grumbles.

Nishikido just laughs and hands him his medicine and an icepack with the orders to stay on the couch. That couch is going to have an Ueda-shaped impression in it after Ueda leaves.

He's halfway through his breakfast of omelette and a rerun of Doraemon that he's already seen when Nishikido walks out of his room, shrugging on a thick jacket and slipping sunglasses onto his face. "Where are you going?" Ueda asks, as Nishikido sets a black cap upon his hair and tightens his belt. Nishikido looks up sharply, caught.

"Work," he answers simply, and Ueda stares.

"Oh. Right. Yeah." He'd forgotten that Nishikido wasn't just there for him. He still needed to work; still needed to be Kanjani8's Nishikido Ryo.

Ueda watches as Nishikido nods once before reaching for his wallet and stuffing it into a pocket. "Your tablets are on the kitchen counter, near the phone. Take one when you're not feeling too good... and don't forget those icepacks; there are more in the freezer, but don't forget to put the warm ones back in." Nishikido pauses, sighing and staring at the television, his fingers twitching as he tries to think of anything else he's forgotten. "Oh, and no moving. Don't stretch, don't walk too far-- and don't you _dare_ box, Ueda."

Ueda stares up at him. "...What would I punch, though?" he says eventually, trying to see past the reflection of Nishikido's sunglasses. He wishes he would take them off. Nishikido laughs and shrugs.

"Anyway, I should be going. I'll be back..." Nishikido pauses.

"Whenever you get back," Ueda finishes for him. He knows just as well as Nishikido that their job has strange hours; Nishikido could come home at six in the afternoon or two in the morning, depending on whatever he has scheduled for that day. "It's okay, I won't break anything," he adds, laughing.

"I'm not worried about you breaking anything," Nishikido says firmly. "I'm worried about _you_ breaking."

And with that he's gone, throwing five thousand yen onto the table in case Ueda needs it. "For... pizza, or something," he explains, rushing out the door just as his phone buzzes. Ueda is left alone, wondering why Nishikido thinks he would break.

"I'm not a doll," he mutters, and hisses when he moves wrong. Oh. Right.

It hits him hard: Nishikido is _worried_ about him. Like, really worried. Worried enough to make sure he has money for pizza and has enough icepacks. Worried enough to try to tell him when he'd be back; worried enough to sleep on the floor and give Ueda his bed, even though Ueda knows he gets less sleep than Ueda does.

Because-- Because Nishikido _loves_ him.

Ueda is slow.

It's funny, how little this affects him. He should be tearing his hair out, wondering _when_ and _why_ and-- and-- Wait, Nishikido is gay? Since when? What-- When-- _How_ \--

Ueda sits on Nishikido's couch and sighs; he shouldn't be thinking this hard about it.

Maybe he'll ask Nishikido about it later.

Ueda watches television until he's ready to throw the coffee table into the set. He's sick of seeing programs about how to cook some fancy French food or which computer to buy or which life insurance was better for him. He's _bored_. And it's only the third day of his recovery.

So, Ueda goes exploring.

Nishikido's apartment isn't very big. It's about as big as Nakamaru's place, but with less... white. Nishikido doesn't have many possessions, Ueda notices. He has a few simple art pieces on the walls - nothing by anyone famous, or anything that particularly stands out to him, but they're kind of nice. Kind of relaxing. There are awards and little pieces of memorabilia on his bookshelf, photos from Kanjani8's debut with a fresh-faced Nishikido standing between a lanky Ohkura and a tanned Yasuda; photos of his mother and father and their home in Osaka sit in pretty silver frames up high.

His eyes graze over the books in Nishikido's bookshelf but nothing jumps out at him - Nishikido doesn't own any manga. Who doesn't own any manga? Ueda sighs and turns on the spot, wondering where else to go. There's another room close to the front door that he didn't notice before so he wanders over there, staring at the face of the door.

It's a music room. The walls are padded and there are instruments everywhere: a drumkit sits against a wall, drumsticks neatly placed atop its bass drum; about eight guitars stand proudly here and there, each different colours and shapes and styles. There's a little desk with a computer lying atop it - Ueda doesn't know what it's for but he doesn't really care. There are cords all over the carpet on the ground and he almost trips on them as he makes his way into the room, aiming for the little keyboard sitting near the window.

It's only been a few days but it's nice to sit behind a keyboard again. Ueda runs his fingers over the keys, liking the way the plastic feels beneath his fingertips. He starts playing before he even notices it, and it's like he can breathe again. The music just flows, highs and lows and tinkering little melodies that fill the room and dance about his fingertips. The music has no story, no complicated history or any noticeable technique at all. He's just playing, and it feels _good_.

Ueda doesn't notice that he's closed his eyes until he stops playing. The last note fades out sadly but he's distracted, peering at an old battered notebook that sits on that little desk to the side. His curiosity gets the better of him - it always does - and he snatches it up quickly, flipping through it and making sure nothing falls out.

Nishikido's handwriting is small but kind of neat. Neater than Ueda's, but that isn't too hard; Ueda's writing looks like chicken scratches. These are rough lyrics, Ueda realises. There are scribbles and crosses and doodles of what looks like Akanishi being eaten by Godzilla in the borders. There's even a little "Help me, Pi!" scrawled next to it in a speech bubble. Ueda chuckles as he continues to flip through it - half of him expects his name to crop up somewhere - and then suddenly, a few pages fall out of the back and drift to the floor. Curious, Ueda leans down to pick them up; they've been ripped out of the book and crushed and torn, and it looks like Nishikido had tried to get rid of them numerous times before changing his mind over and over again.

Ueda peers at it carefully. There are no words, aside from 'pick this up here' and 'add another verse here??' dotted about the page. This time, there are only notes drawn on shaky music staves, a record of the music inside Nishikido's head. Ueda props the sheet up on the keyboard, curious as to how it sounds. He starts off slowly; Nishikido's keyboard skills aren't the greatest, and the notes for the left hand are scratchy and faint, like he was unsure about them as he wrote them.

The song is something else.

It's rough, and coarse, and has more flaws than it does good points, but it's _nice_. Ueda finds himself playing more and more, over and over, until he's adding his own notes and fixing Nishikido's. He likes this song - it's different from Nishikido's usual guitar riffs and drum beats, different from his strained voice and belted-out lyrics. It's sweet and soft and Ueda suddenly feels this pull, like he needs to see Nishikido _now_ , which is stupid.

Ueda thinks of ringing him but realises too late that he doesn't have his number. So he rings Kame - no help there, Kame's in the middle of filming Going! and can't talk for very long - before defaulting to Taguchi. Taguchi knows Nishikido. Taguchi knows everyone. Everyone loves Taguchi, whether they like to admit it or not.

Taguchi sends him through to Nishikido - it's a complicated procedure, apparently, because there are a lot of buttons pressed and Ueda is accidentally sent to Takizawa twice before Taguchi gets the hang of it. "Never done this before!" he says happily. It's like an adventure, he says, and Ueda laughs because that's just what you do when Taguchi is happy. As long as he doesn't have to listen to Takizawa talk about Tsubasa--

"Ueda?"

Ueda spins around as a voice sounds behind him. Nishikido quirks an eyebrow. "Hello!" Ueda squeaks, hanging up his phone. "Why are you back?" Nishikido stares.

"I finished work," Nishikido laughs.

"No," Ueda argues, as Nishikido pushes past him, dumping his bag on the chair next to him. "You just left."

"I've been gone for hours," Nishikido says, wandering into the kitchen. "It's, like, three in the afternoon, wh-- Ueda."

"Yeah, what?"

"You didn't take your pills," Nishikido says, walking back into the living room and holding out the packet.

"I... must have lost track of time," Ueda says sheepishly. He didn't mean to; the song was just... calling. But he can't tell Nishikido that. It's too personal, and Ueda is already feeling bad for finding it. And possibly playing it. For hours on end.

He's kind of hungry.

Nishikido sighs as Ueda's stomach rumbles. "Fine. We'll get pizza."

Pizza is comfort, Ueda thinks later, as he sits on that couch with an icepack pressed to his side and a slice of pizza in his hand. He doesn't normally like pizza - he finds it too greasy - but right now... it's nice. Nishikido is next to him, a beer in one hand and pizza in the other, shirtless with his eyes glued to the television set. There's a rerun of one of Toma's old dramas on and they watch that - it's not as good as they used to think it was, with overly dramatic music and insanely fast close-ups, and when Nishikido chuckles, Ueda laughs.

Nishikido makes Ueda take his pills. "Don't think I didn't notice my music room door open," Nishikido mumbles around his beer bottle. Ueda freezes.

"I-- I was bored," Ueda says, and goes back to the show. Toma is bathed in a fantastic red light now, and Nishikido snorts.

"Yeah. It's okay, really," Nishikido mutters, and tips his bottle up. "Just don't go messing with the tuning on some of those guitars," he adds roughly. Ueda nods absentmindedly, already thinking about that little yellow notebook again until Nishikido yawns, loud and long. "Shit, I'm tired."

"What did you do today?" Ueda finds himself saying. Nishikido gives him a look and Ueda quickly turns back to Toma's horrible drama.

"We practiced some dance moves," Nishikido answers slowly, reaching for another piece of pizza. Right. Ueda should do that too. "And that took us a few good hours. Then I had a photoshoot and an interview."

"Myojo?"

"Popolo."

"Ah."

"Interviewer was shit; didn't know anything about me or the band. I don't think he cared, really," Nishikido says, and opens another bottle of beer. Ueda isn't allowed any, which is completely unfair, because he can almost taste it on his tongue and Nishikido is just teasing, now, as he takes a sip and sighs. Ueda's shoulders slump. It's not good for his concussion, apparently, but Ueda doesn't even care anymore. Nishikido does, though.

"I wonder what they're paid," Ueda muses. "I wonder how much they get for asking us what our favourite colours are and what hairstyles we like on women."

Nishikido laughs and Ueda doesn't really know why. "You-- You wonder about a lot of things, don't you?" Nishikido says, and the look he gives Ueda kind of pins him in place. His eyes are soft, the richest shade of brown and they're gazing right into Ueda's own, making him feel all warm again. It's all Ueda can do to watch him as Nishikido licks his lips and edges closer, closer, until he's so close that Ueda doesn't have to worry about that warm feeling because Nishikido is warm, too, and that's-- that's rather... good. Nice. Warm.

Nishikido smells like beer and cigarettes and pizza and it's addictive. Ueda finds himself leaning closer because Nishikido is just-- just there; warm and sweet and very much in love with Ueda and--

Ueda leans away just as Nishikido snaps to attention. It's cold. Ueda blames himself - there's no-one else to blame, anyway. He'd almost _kissed_ Nishikido Ryo, and--

"Shit, I'm sorry," Nishikido mumbles. He's curled himself into the corner of the couch, hugging a cushion against his chest as he stares at the label on his beer bottle. "It's not-- I'm sorry, I just--"

"No," Ueda says. "It's fine."

The scary thing is that it might just _be_ fine.

\---

Their days start and end like this for the next week or so. They wake, Nishikido cooks breakfast, makes sure Ueda takes his pills and has a fresh icepack and leaves for work. Ueda slips into the music room as soon as Nishikido leaves and plays that song for hours on end, finding happiness in the twinkling little music notes. Nishikido comes home at a different hour every day but still finds the energy to make dinner for both of them - he refuses to let Ueda cook. Ueda doesn't know if this is because he's found out about Ueda's cooking record or because Ueda is still injured, but he's betting on the latter.

One day Nishikido doesn't come home until one in the morning. Ueda has already gone to bed, a small part of him worrying about Nishikido's whereabouts. He's not asleep just yet; he's about to - his head is hurting him more than usual today - but he sits bolt upright when he hears Nishikido shuffling around the living room.

He's in the middle of trying battling with his futon. Nishikido's bag is on the floor and there's a new script on the coffee table; he looks tired. His shoulders are slumped and his hair is a mess, like he's dragged his hand through it one too many times, and Ueda... Ueda knows how that is. Ueda knows how it feels to be so drained, so tired. Ueda sort of wants to help. Sort of.

"How the-- How does this thing work--" he mutters in his attempt to unroll it. "It wasn't this big before; what've you been feeding it, Ueda?"

It takes Ueda a whole three seconds to make up his mind and he sighs before grabbing hold of Nishikido's wrist. Nishikido looks at it and cocks his head but follows Ueda curiously. "You stay in here," Ueda says, once they make it into Nishikido's room. "I'll go sleep on the futon."

"No, you--"

"You're dead tired," Ueda interrupts. "Look at you, you can barely walk."

Nishikido's eyes droop as he tries to glare at him. "I'm fine. Just-- Just had some dance practice. F-For Music Station. Are you wearing my socks?" He asks suddenly, and Ueda pauses. Nishikido has comfortable socks.

"Maybe," Ueda answers quietly. "But that's not the point!"

"Did you take your pills--"

"Yes, I was a good boy," Ueda mutters, and shoves at Nishikido's chest. Nishikido falls back and lands on the bed, looking surprised.

"Is this how _you_ get girls into bed?" Nishikido chuckles but Ueda just rolls his eyes.

"Good night."

But there's a hand at his wrist, halting him. "Don't go," Nishikido whispers, his voice tiny.

Ueda doesn't.

It's awkward, knowing that Nishikido is lying right next to him. He feels all warm again. He takes a deep breath - pain sears through his ribs and he gasps, curling into himself as if that alone could protect him. There's movement on the other side of the bed but he doesn't think much of it until an arm snakes around his waist, pulling him ever so carefully so he turns onto his other side. Until he's facing Nishikido.

"Don't lie on your sore side," Nishikido says. His eyes are closed but he still looks bone-tired, and Ueda kind of wants to move that strand of hair out of his face. So he does. Nishikido's lips twitch but his eyes still don't open, and Ueda's hand is back curled up under his head like nothing ever happened. Nishikido's arm is still around his waist, like he's trying to keep him there, and this is all too intimate and close and _warm_. "Your heart is beating real fast," Nishikido murmurs, and it ghosts over Ueda's face. Ueda hums in response.

Ueda doesn't know when he falls asleep but he does, dreaming about twinkling melodies that dance around blue and yellow trees, making them flit and flutter until they're a mix of both; until they're all different shades of green.

The sun is streaming through the window when he awakes; he forgot to close the curtains the night before. Ueda curls into himself and feels that pain start up again, but then he feels Nishikido's arm tighten around his waist and that pain disappears for a second. They've moved over to Nishikido's side of the bed - he doesn't know when or how that happened - but they're in the same position that they fell asleep in.

His first thought is that Nishikido still looks tired.

Ueda tries to worm his way out from under Nishikido's arm but that's not happening, because Nishikido is pulling him closer and closer until his head is under Nishikido's chin and his face is pressed into his collarbone. "Stop moving." Nishikido's voice rumbles through him and he shivers. "Just let me-- Just... Stay like this."

Nishikido's voice is but a whisper, but it slams into Ueda hard. "Okay." He doesn't know why he answers like that but he does, and Nishikido makes a small noise before hugging him tighter. It's... rather nice, actually. Nishikido is comfortable.

"Do you work today?" Ueda asks. His lips just graze Nishikido's skin and it's dangerous, so dangerous. They're teetering on that line and he knows Nishikido wants to fall... but what does Ueda want?

"Yeah," Nishikido mumbles. He feels Nishikido's voice more than hears it, and he feels himself wriggle closer. Nishikido makes a soft noise of surprise and his arm tightens, holding him there.

"What time?"

Nishikido grunts and shifts so he can see the clock that rests on his bedside table. He slumps back down to the bed, hugging Ueda with both arms now. "In like... an hour."

Ueda feels like he should say something, like he should wrap his arms around Nishikido too, just to keep him here. So he does. His hands shake as they clutch onto the back of Nishikido's shirt; he can feel Nishikido's heart race as he moves to rest his head against Nishikido's chest.

"You... You're not helping me here," Nishikido says, his voice strained.

"I know," Ueda answers. "Just... I don't know. Keep hugging me."

Eventually though, they have to disentangle themselves from one another so Nishikido can get to work. He showers and dresses and gives Ueda this complicated look before he leaves, and Ueda thinks Nishikido might see the same look in his own eyes.

Everything has changed. They both know it. It's all on Ueda now.

"Have a good day," Ueda calls, and Nishikido nods once before tugging his cap further down his face and leaving the apartment.

Ueda feels a little empty for hours until he gets a message from Nishikido.

_take ur pills. do the thing with the ice. dun hurt urself._

Ueda smiles as he writes out a response. _have fun today_

_can't. hina's here. its weird again. i blame u._

Ueda almost falls over laughing.

 

\---

 

They keep sleeping in the same bed. Nishikido hugs him close and Ueda can't bring himself to care too much; Nishikido is warm and his heartbeat is strong, and his arms make Ueda feel rather... safe. Ueda doesn't know when he wanted to feel safe but it's nice, knowing that Nishikido's arms are around him when he sleeps.

That line is blurring very, very quickly.

Every day, Ueda sits in that music room while Nishikido works. He's getting better at that song. It flows and weaves, surrounding him with the stories that Nishikido wants to tell. He thinks that's why he likes this song - it's sweet and calm, and it's like Nishikido is whispering things in that sleepy voice he has when he's just woken; like he's stroking Ueda's hair and kissing his temple and everything is soft and cozy.

Nishikido has never kissed his temple, but Ueda finds that he really wouldn't mind if he did.

He tries to play other songs but somehow they warp and change back into Nishikido's song. Ueda doesn't know what the song is for, or who it's for, but he wants it. He wants it all to himself. He finds himself humming makeshift lyrics as he plays and wishes he could write them down but doesn't dare to; he doesn't want Nishikido to know what he's been playing all this time.

He loves this tune. He really does.

Ueda sighs when his pills wear off and his side begins hurting again. He sets the music piece aside and stands, rubbing at his ribs as he makes his way out of the room, wondering when Nishikido will--

Oh.

Nishikido is leaning against the wall next to the door, eyes to the ground. His hands are in his pockets and he smells like fresh air and leaves; his mouth is set in a determined like when he looks up into Ueda's eyes.

"I-- I'm sorry, that page just fell out of your book, and I..." Ueda trails off. Nishikido doesn't look mad. One knows when Nishikido Ryo is mad, and this is not a mad Nishikido Ryo. And Ueda isn't sorry at all. "I like that song," he murmurs. "I've been playing it for days and I don't even know why," he admits, the pain in his side going ignored for Nishikido's soft eyes. "It's like it wraps around me and pulls me in, and... I just want to keep it," he finishes softly. Nishikido is still watching him intently. "What?"

Nishikido pushes up off the wall and makes his way to him. "It's yours, anyway," is all he says before he kisses him.

Nishikido kisses him like he's scared he'll break, like he'll crack and fade away into nothing, and Ueda can't get enough. He's melting, slowly, and all he can do is kiss back and hold on. His heart is hammering against his chest and his hands are shaking where they grasp onto Nishikido's shoulders, pulling at the fabric of his shirt. Nishikido kisses like he speaks: soft yet harsh, full of all kinds of passion that sends Ueda's head spinning. Ueda feels like he's on fire but he likes it, wants it to continue and maybe this is happening all too fast but Ueda can't bring himself to care. Nishikido is warmth; Nishikido is comfort.

Nishikido is in love with him, and Ueda might be a little in love with Nishikido, too.

They pull away unwillingly. Nishikido is watching him with careful eyes, like he's scared Ueda is going to disappear before him. But Ueda isn't. He's not going anywhere. Because that song is for him, that song is _his_. Nishikido wrote that song thinking of whispers in the dark and imagined kisses; Nishikido _is_ that song.

It's not the melody that wraps around him now. It's not the tune that kisses his temple and pulls him into a hug. It's not the tinkering little chorus that makes him feel at home. It's all Nishikido.

Ryo. It's all Ryo.

Maybe it always has been.

 

\---

 

"I thought your place would be different," Nishikido muses a few weeks later, sipping at his tea and watching Ueda's dogs sleep in front of the television.

"How?" Ueda asks. Patto is by his side, trying to chew the nose off her stuffed toy, and he scratches behind her ears. Nishikido shrugs.

"Thought it'd be messier," he says eventually. "Koki told me it was messy."

"Koki lies," Ueda says simply, and reaches out a hand to trace over his own signature on Nishikido's cast. "I should draw a mouse on that."

Nishikido pulls his arm away. "No! I didn't break my arm just so you could draw all over my cast!" He looks quite protective of it.

"No, you fell down the stairs because you were overtired," Ueda says patiently, sipping at his tea again. "And I was there to pick you back up. I deserve to draw on that thing."

"...Fine."

"I still can't believe Murakami gave you mouth-to-mouth," Ueda chuckles, settling into place and beginning to draw two little mice. He feels Nishikido shudder against him.

"I was _awake_ ," he complains, "There was no need!" Ueda laughs. "His teeth did get in the way," Nishikido grumbles, and Ueda has to lean against him, he's laughing so hard. He kisses just behind Nishikido's ear, still laughing.

"Thanks. I really needed to know."

"Yeah, well."

Ueda looks up at him. Nishikido's eyes are dancing with mirth; there's a tiny hidden smile on his face. He loves that face; he loves those eyes. And that's when it hits him hard.

"I love you," he says, and it's like he's lighter. Nishikido sighs and leans down to kiss him, soft and slow and beautiful.

"I love you too," he whispers. "Can you-- Can you move, so I can kiss you properly?"

Ueda shakes his head. "Can't. Drawing mice."

Nishikido laughs and kisses his temple, just how he likes it. "Of course you are."

 

\--the end.


End file.
